A Shadow in the Darkness
by sparklyscorpion
Summary: ON HIATUS Christine has started a new life far away from New York City, but she can't escape her past or her destiny so easily. Based upon the 1989 movie with Robert Englund as Erik Destler.
1. This the plighted vow

_Author's Note: The Phantom of the Opera belongs to Gaston Leroux; this particular version belongs to whomever owns the rights to the 1989 movie with Robert Englund as Erik Destler. The chapter titles are from a poem called "The Bridal Ballad" by Edgar Allan Poe._

_It's my honest opinion that this version gets dismissed too often by "phans" and there needs to be more fan fiction for it. ;) I've been thinking about story ideas for almost two years and have finally formed one that I hope will do the movie justice. I can't make any guarantees about how quickly I will update this, but I do have a good outline of the plot so hopefully it won't be very slow._

_If you haven't seen the 1989 movie before, a lot of things are different. Erik is a skin-wearing serial killer, Christine's last name is Day, and it takes place in modern times - and that's just the beginning! I really suggest watching it before reading this story. _

_Thanks to Jennyfair, my faithful beta and fellow fan of Destler. _

* * *

Christine worked quietly in the small patch of land that she called her own, her fingers digging into the freshly turned soil as she planted a few new perennials in her garden. Anyone who saw her working in her old denim coveralls with her hair tucked beneath a wide straw hat would probably swear that she had been born with a green thumb, but the truth was that she had never been interested in such things until she had moved to Montana nearly twenty years ago. 

"Jo?" Christine smiled when she heard her husband calling for her, wiping her palms against her coveralls before turning around to squint up at him. Richard wasn't built like the sturdy farmers that were their neighbors – no, he was tall and lean and still made her heart skip a beat even though she had worn his ring for seventeen years come August.

"I thought that I'd find you out here, Jo," he said with a lopsided grin, offering her his hand to help his wife stand. No one around here knew what her true name was except Richard and he only called her Christine when she asked him to do it, usually after they had made love and he held her close. He knew nearly everything about her now, even about _him_, although she had left out parts – she didn't think Richard would believe her about everything, especially since she scarcely believed it herself. "Beth wants to talk to you but she asked me to soften you up first." He leaned down and kissed her, his mustache tickling her upper lip as he playfully rubbed her nose with his own.

"She's not getting a car until she gets a job," Christine murmured lazily as her hat slid from her head and fell to the ground. "We've been over this before and I thought we agreed."

"It's not about the car this time." He sighed and rubbed her back before pulling away from her, giving her his best serious look. Richard was the only lawyer for miles and did everything from drafting wills to representing his clients in disputes with other landowners, and Christine had seen that look before. "You know that math competition she won in Billings last month? Her teacher told her today that her scores were good enough that she could compete in the national event if she wants to go, and she does."

Christine leaned towards him and rested her cheek against his shoulder, breathing deeply and closing her eyes. "Well, we can make a few sacrifices here and there, I'm sure that we can afford to send her if we cut back on a few things."

"It's not that Jo," Richard rumbled as he rested his chin atop her head. "I already told her that money's not the issue – it's where it's being held. Jo…it's going to be in New York City."

Christine felt herself go numb with fear and she didn't realize that her legs were quivering until Richard helped her to the stone bench that he had constructed in the garden last year. She wasn't like the other residents in the tiny town of Wolf Basin – she wasn't terrified of big cities, she had lived in one for a few years – the memories of what had happened in New York City and the reason why she now lived under an assumed name in the middle of Montana were what frightened her. She thought that she was going to vomit for a moment and placed her head between her knees, waiting for the nausea to pass, and when she rose to look at Richard's face her answer was already clear before she spoke it. "She can't go."

"Jo, listen to me. I know that you've been through a horrible ordeal, really I do, and it hurts me to know that I can't protect you from your past even now, but it's been a long time since all of that happened. Why would he still be there after all of these years? He probably took the first flight out of the city as soon as he could, he probably isn't even in the country." Richard reached for her and Christine looked down at their clasped hands, trying to draw strength from him although she still trembled in terror. "Even if he is still there, how could he possibly know that Beth is your daughter? He doesn't know where you are or what your name is now – besides, New York is so big and Beth is only going to be there for four days, and she'll be chaperoned."

Christine knew that what he was saying made perfect sense, but she had lived in fear for almost two decades now and it wasn't easy to let common sense override her insecurities. Instead she began to cry and Richard pulled her into his arms as he so often had when the past overwhelmed her, and after a few moments she stopped sniffling. "I just want our daughter to be safe. I don't want her to…Richard, I…I don't know if this is such a good idea. Maybe we should just tell her that we can't afford it."

"We can't keep her here forever, you know that," he replied gently, smoothing her hair as he pressed a quick kiss against her temple. "She wants more than what Wolf Basin has to offer. We should let her have a little freedom now, don't you think? She'll be safe there, just as safe as she is here."

Christine remained silent for several minutes, considering her husband's words. She knew that she would never be able to return to New York City, the very thought was enough to make her stomach churn in agony, but that didn't mean that her daughter couldn't go. Millions of people lived in the city, how could Erik find her? He wouldn't even know where to look anyway, Beth was the spitting image of Richard's side of the family and didn't resemble her at all. Besides, Richard was right, Erik had probably fled the country after Meg's murder. Even after all of these years the thought of her death still pained Christine beyond belief, for no matter what anyone told her she knew that Erik had killed her best friend, but she hadn't heard anything about him since…

"All right, if you think it's what is best," Christine finally murmured, grudgingly giving her consent. She might agree to Beth's trip to New York, but that didn't mean that she would have to like it.


	2. And, though my faith be broken

_Author's Note: The Phantom of the Opera belongs to Gaston Leroux; this particular version belongs to whomever owns the rights to the 1989 movie with Robert Englund as Erik Destler. The chapter titles are from a poem called "The Bridal Ballad" by Edgar Allan Poe._

_Betaed by the wonderful Jennyfair, who now has her own ffn account! Check it out soon for some great stories. :)  
_

* * *

Christine was mostly silent as she drove to Billings with Beth chattering in the front seat, only making soft murmurs when her daughter seemed to expect some sort of response from her. She wished that Richard had been able to come with her to the airport, but he had had an important meeting with a client today and had said his goodbyes this morning at the breakfast table. It would be a long drive home to Wolf Basin without Beth to liven things up on the way back. 

They ate lunch at the Red Robin in Billings because the new safety regulations enacted after September 11th prevented Christine from joining Beth in the airport and eating at the Air Host, although Christine had eaten at that restaurant once with Richard and didn't figure she was missing all that much. When they reached the airport itself a lump formed in Christine's throat and wouldn't go away, although Beth seemed not to notice. She was fresh and eager to escape from Montana, if only for a few days, and Christine couldn't blame her.

"Be careful," Christine said as they stood in front of the ticketing counter, placing her hands on her daughter's thin shoulders. "Don't wander away from the group or talk to strangers. Always stay with your chaperone. Be careful, Beth, New York City's a lot different from Billings." She could see the unasked questions in Beth's eyes but she couldn't answer them, not now, and so she hugged her tightly instead. "_Be careful_."

"I will Mom," Beth promised before joining the short line to have her luggage x-rayed, waving at her with a large grin on her face after she had successfully cleared the metal detector. "Don't worry!"

"That's what mothers do," Christine whispered as she watched her daughter disappear around the corner, although she knew that it was far more than general maternal nerves. She couldn't help but feel as if she had allowed Beth to wander into the jungle without so much as a guidebook to assist her.

Instead of going home right away Christine decided to drive around Billings for a while, hoping to get her mind off the unsettling thoughts that made her eyes fill with tears. She found herself parked outside the Greyhound bus terminal, staring at the deserted station and remembering how overwhelmed she had felt when she had first seen it. After the incident with _him_ in New York Christine had returned to her apartment and waited for Meg to come home, numb with shock. It was only after her friend had opened the door that Christine had allowed herself to cry, and it had taken her quite some time to calm down enough to explain all that had happened that evening. At first Meg hadn't believed her, she could see it in her eyes, but Christine was so insistent that finally her friend had accepted that she was quite distraught over something.

Meg had been the one to suggest that Christine go to Wolf Basin to stay with her aunt until she felt safe again. No one would know her there and it was so peaceful that she couldn't help but compose herself. Christine had always lived in the city, but early one morning she found herself aboard a Greyhound bus with a one-way ticket to Billings, waving goodbye to her friend. It would be the last time she would ever see Meg alive.

The bus trip had been two of the longest days in Christine's life, filled with cramped conditions, obnoxious passengers, and nights where even the steady hum of the tires meeting the highway could not make her forget the memory of ripping _his_ synthetic mask away to reveal the horror it concealed. Meg's aunt had been waiting for her at the station, a stout woman wearing a faded cotton dress that Christine later learned was the one she generally wore to church. Aunt Ellen was hard of hearing and had misheard Christine's name as Josephine, and she had been too tired to correct the woman. After Meg's murder she wondered if the slip wasn't some sort of divine intervention, for it would be even more difficult for _him_ to track her here when the name she used wasn't her own.

She had known that _he_ was responsible for the grisly slaying even though the police had never had any solid leads. There was precious little the officers could tell them – Meg had been found in the apartment they had once shared less than a week after Christine had left. It was obvious that she had been dead for a few days and that she had suffered a great deal before her life had ended, her face mutilated so badly that they had had to identify her with dental records. Her death had been so vicious that it shocked even the hardened homicide cops who investigated the case, and Christine had been obsessed with learning every macabre detail because she knew what the police did not, that Meg had died for her.

Christine shook her head and started the car once more, suddenly impatient to reach Wolf Basin. She never felt safe in Billings, she always looked over her shoulder even though she had been to the city dozens of times, but in Wolf Basin she knew that _he_ could not find her. It was just a small town like so many other towns in Montana, indistinctive in every way, and Christine enjoyed the anonymity that she had assumed since moving here so many years ago.

She was relieved to find Richard home when she pulled into the gravel driveway, reading the newspaper on the porch while a pipe dangled carelessly from his mouth. He had removed his suit jacket but he still wore his dress pants and shirt, his tie loosened but hanging around his neck. He made her feel protected when she was near him, just as he had since the first day she had stepped foot into his small office in town, asking him how to legally change her name without drawing any attention to herself. "Why, don't you like your given name, Josephine Walker?" he had teased – she knew him indirectly because he often stopped in Grady's Café, where she worked as a waitress, for a cup of coffee in the afternoons – but the smile had slid from his face when she had started explaining her circumstances. She hadn't known then how much her life would change because of him – within a year her last name would be Dutton and his child would be growing inside her body – but their relationship had never seemed rushed to either of them. It was as if they had known each other for centuries.

"You see Beth off okay?" he called when she shut the car door with more force than it required, lowering the paper so he could look at her. Christine nodded and went into the house to retrieve the novel she had checked out from the library last week, sitting in her own chair on the porch, but she found that all of the words ran together and she couldn't concentrate.

"She said she'd call once she got to New York," Christine said fretfully after a while, setting the book down and folding her hands in her lap. "Do you think she's there yet?"

"Her plane didn't leave until three – she's probably not going to be settled into the hotel and able to get to a telephone until at least ten. I doubt she's even in Minnesota yet. Want to go to Grady's for dinner tonight?" His voice was muffled since he was talking through the paper, and Christine found herself becoming irritated that he didn't share her concern for their daughter's safety.

"No." Her reply was more curt than she had planned for it to be and she stormed into the house, slamming the screen door behind her. She wouldn't leave this house until Beth phoned to say that she had arrived unharmed and was in her hotel room for the night.

The call came around ten, just as Richard had predicted, and Beth sounded tired but undeniably excited as she described her trip. Christine had listened quietly as Richard chatted on the extension, telling their daughter to make sure to take lots of pictures before wishing her a good night, and only after he had hung up the phone did Beth directly address her mother. "Please don't worry Mom, everything's fine. I'm going to be careful, I swear, and in a few days I'll be home safe again and you'll see that nothing bad has happened to me."

Christine envied her optimism, yet another thing that _he_ had stolen from her, but she only made some reassuring comment that she couldn't recall as soon as she had hung up the receiver. After she got ready for bed she apologized to her husband for snapping at him earlier, but he said that he understood – he always understood, it was as if he had lived the terrifying events of her past himself – before making a quip about having the house all to themselves and that they should take advantage of that. She found that she couldn't bring herself to focus on Richard that night, her mind was thousands of miles away in her old apartment, except this time she saw Beth's face on Meg's body. It was yet another thing that required an apology, and it seemed to Christine that all she had done since marrying Richard was say she was sorry.

Christine spent the next day troubled with a vague sense of unease, but as day faded into night she forced herself to push away her fears. Richard came home early and barbequed some chicken on the grill, and after it was dark they sat on the patio and watched the fireflies in the backyard. Meg had been right, Montana was incredibly peaceful, and after a few glasses of wine Christine felt more relaxed than she had in years.

They stayed outside well past midnight, enjoying the cool night air and each other's company, and it was only after Christine whispered a particularly naughty suggestion in Richard's ear that they felt any urge to return inside. He was fumbling with the hooks of her bra, his fingers made clumsy from alcohol, when the phone rang, startling them both, and Christine begged him not to answer it.

"I have to answer it," Richard declared with only a slight slur, "it might be important."

"It's probably Silas Dawkins calling you again about another DUI," Christine protested, trying to slap his hand away from the receiver, but Richard was too quick for her and had the phone by his ear before she had quite realized what had happened. She crossed her arms and pouted, but within a few seconds his face had gone completely pale and Christine realized that something terrible had happened. She felt all of the blood drain from her body as she listened to Richard speak tersely to the caller, and when he hung up the phone she knew what he was going to say before he even opened his mouth.

"Beth's missing."


	3. And, though my heart be broken

_Author's Note: The Phantom of the Opera belongs to Gaston Leroux; this particular version belongs to whomever owns the rights to the 1989 movie with Robert Englund as Erik Destler. The chapter titles are from a poem called "The Bridal Ballad" by Edgar Allan Poe._

_Many thanks to my betas, Monj and Jennyfair.  
_

* * *

The musical theater scene in New York City normally held very little appeal for Erik – he would much rather spend an evening alone in his apartment listening to Puccini than watch actors sing and dance their way across a stage for two hours. Tonight, however, something had felt _different_ to him and he had found himself taking the subway to Times Square with no definite purpose in mind, only to walk along the crowded streets and see if he could determine what had caused him to feel so off-balance for the past day. Most people would probably dismiss their gut feelings, but Erik Destler had learned to rely upon them in the past several decades of his…existence – not _life_, for whenever he pulled away the synthetic mask from his rotting features it was a corpse that stared back at him in the mirror, not a living man. 

For some inexplicable reason he was drawn to the Majestic Theatre and he stood across the street staring at the marquee for several minutes, ignoring those who bumped into him none too gently and muttered comments about how rude he was to be standing still in the middle of a sidewalk. Erik had seen the musical once, out of sheer curiosity – it _was_ loosely based upon his life after all, although Gaston Leroux had changed so many of the details before publishing his novel, and Andrew Lloyd Webber had done the same, that now the story was only a shadow of the truth, so far away from the events that had really occurred that Erik barely recognized it. Now the Phantom was some sympathetic creature who caused theatergoers of all ages to sniffle unashamedly when he stood alone, his carefully-constructed empire crumbling around his feet as he watched his beloved leave with another man.

It wasn't _him_ at all, that broken man who could not handle a woman's rejection – four times, he had had four chances with her, and each time she had betrayed him, but he still breathed, still worked upon his music, still waited patiently for her come back into his life, for he knew that there would be another opportunity for them. There always was.

At first his traitorous heart had hoped that Christine had returned to the city, but now as he stared at the poster of the actress who currently played her on stage he knew that it wasn't true. If she were in the theater the antsy feeling in his stomach would be so intense that he would scarcely be able to stand it, not the vague unease that bothered him now. _Something_ was in that building though, something he could not explain.

He slowly walked around the block as he waited for the show to be over, thinking about Christine more than he had in years. He knew that she was alive because he always had a hollow feeling in his gut when she was not, and though he had searched for her he had not been able to locate her – that was entirely his fault, his mind had been clouded with rage and he had killed her friend far too quickly. Usually he tried not to let his mind linger upon her for too long because it only made him frustrated and angry, choosing instead to allow the supernatural tie they shared to be only a dull ache inside his chest – that is, until whatever it was had rekindled it late last night.

When he reached the front of the building again throngs of people were exiting the theater, and for a brief moment he worried that he had missed whatever it was that was causing him to be so uneasy. Ordinarily he would have sneered at those who were digging tissues out of their pockets or purses to wipe away their misplaced sympathy for the Phantom, for _him_, but tonight he barely noticed them – he was searching for something, although he wasn't quite sure what. The palms of his hands tingled and he brushed them against his trousers, and although he knew that she was not here he still searched for her. It had been nearly two decades since he had seen her last and he had no idea what she looked like now. She had worn her hair long and straight then, her eyes as dark as her hair, but she was approaching forty – would her hair be turning gray, cut into one of those popular short shags that he despised?

He did not see her, but his gaze was drawn to a group of three giggling girls accompanied by a middle-aged woman who seemed just as giddy, their hands clutching Playbills and cameras as they stood on the sidewalk searching for something. Normally he would have dismissed them immediately, but there was something about one of the girls that caught his attention. He narrowed his eyes and focused upon her. She was pretty, he supposed, with wavy brown hair and long legs, but she was far too young to be Christine. Still…

They were standing on the corner of the sidewalk, almost as if they were waiting for him – fate, for once it seemed, was going to be kind to him – ignoring the cardinal rule of being tourists in New York City, which was never to _look_ like tourists. Erik pushed his way through the crowd until he was standing behind the group, offering a deceivingly bland smile as he tapped the chaperone's shoulder. "Do you need help?" he asked, careful to keep from staring at the girl who had first drawn his attention so he wouldn't alarm her, and the woman returned his smile.

"We're looking for the stage door to the Majestic Theatre," she explained as she stood on her tiptoes, as if adding a few extra inches to her height would help in her search, and though he tried Erik could not pinpoint her accent.

"Ah, you must – well, it would be much easier for me to show you than to explain to you." He beckoned the group to follow him and they did, lining up like ducks in a row behind him, further proof in his eyes that they were far from home. If they were from the area he doubted that they would be so trusting, even in a place so crowded as the theater district, and he tapped his fingers against his thigh as he ushered them around the block towards the door where the actors would exit the building. "Here we are," he said after they were in front of the unmarked exit, wrinkling his nose in distaste at the smell of rotting garbage that was stored inside the alley even during the hottest months.

The girls chirped their appreciation before standing behind the metal guard rails that had been placed outside the exit, eagerly scanning the faces of those leaving through the stage door, and Erik was content to fade into the back of the crowd to continue to observe the girl who had captured his interest. She seemed almost familiar to him, although he couldn't understand why – he was certain that he had never seen her before today. She looked nothing like Christine, except perhaps when it came to her bright smile, and Erik tried to think of a way to explain why the girl would make him feel so tense.

"There's the actor who played Raoul," one of her friends half-squealed, pointing to a smiling man who was signing a young boy's program. "Isn't he handsome?"

The girl seemed rather disinterested in Raoul, however, saying that she had liked the Phantom best, which caused Erik to grin slyly, and she volunteered to be the photographer as the other three in her group crowded around the actor for a picture. When she turned around to hand the camera back to her friend he caught just the briefest glimpse of her profile, and then the realization hit him with so much force that he took a step backwards.

_She was Christine's daughter._

There had never been a living child before, although Christine had been pregnant a couple of times in her past lives, but Erik was certain that the girl standing only a few feet from him belonged to Christine. She looked so familiar to him because she favored Richard – the blue eyes, the strong jaw, the long forehead – _her father_. His stomach twisted in knots as he stared at the girl and he wrapped his arms around his middle, more to keep himself from snatching her from the spot than to soothe his nerves. _You're not the only one who manages to find her every time, _he thought viciously as his nails dug into the thin fabric of his shirt, _Richard always finds her as well, and this time it is _your_ fault. You were a fool, you weren't careful and you murdered the only one who could tell you where she had gone, and you gave him the opportunity to have all of these years with her._

Erik felt slighted as he watched the girl, as if Christine had betrayed him in some new way by giving birth to Richard's daughter, but he refused to be paralyzed with rage – he had learned his lesson finally, he would think through it instead of being governed by it – and his mind raced as he hastily devised a plan to lure Christine back to him. He would take her daughter and she would come to the city to find her. It was so simple that he almost clapped his hands together in childish delight.

His thoughts were interrupted by a loud chorus of high-pitched shrieks when the actor who had played the Phantom finally appeared, a messenger bag slung over his shoulder and his shirt unbuttoned at the collar. Erik studied him as he began to good-naturedly sign autographs and pose for pictures, the mild-mannered man who cracked a few jokes with his fans nothing like the angry and socially awkward character he played every night. The girl waited patiently for her turn to have her photograph taken, nearly dropping her Sharpie when she offered it to him with a goofy grin upon her face. Erik found the brief exchange humorous in a dark sort of way, remembering how the girl's mother had reacted when she had seen him last and wondering what Christine would think if she knew how her daughter was fawning over the man who portrayed him on stage.

After the actor waved goodbye the crowd dispersed quickly, and Erik leaned back into the shadows as the girl walked past him with her group, no one sparing him a glance. He followed them at a discreet distance, not that any of them would notice with their giggling and animated chatter, and he wondered how he would lure her away from them. He did not have any use for the other three, and although he supposed he could kill them if need be, he also knew that it would lead to a very messy situation for him; it would be best if he could somehow separate her from her cluster of friends.

Instead of returning to their hotel they crossed the street and went into Charley O's, a restaurant that Erik sometimes frequented when in the theater district late at night. He stood across the street and watched as a waitress seated them in a booth in the corner, trying to formulate a workable plan in his mind of kidnapping the teenager without drawing attention to himself. It was damnably hard to spirit people away in a city with millions of residents without _someone_ noticing, even if that person wasn't inclined to talk to the police, and Erik could not take any chances – not this time, not with the stakes so high. Just when he had decided that he would have to somehow abduct all four of the women, the door to the restaurant swung open and Christine's daughter emerged from the building, patting her pockets as if searching for something.

Fate was indeed being kind to him tonight.

Erik sauntered over to the crosswalk and waited for the lights to change, never allowing the girl to leave his line of sight although trying his best to appear casual and unhurried, or at least as much as one could in the frantic pace of New York City. His entire body felt alive as he approached her, a feeling he had not experienced since Christine was in his apartment that last time, and it took all of the strength he possessed to keep from rushing up to her.

She had a cigarette dangling from her mouth and was fumbling with a lighter, her clumsiness a telling sign that she had only recently picked up the habit. She had just managed to light the cigarette when Erik reached her, and deftly he plucked it from her lips and ground it beneath his heel. "Hey," she protested, glaring at him with all of the bravado she could muster, and he could sense her fear even as she placed her hands on her hips. "Why'd you do that?"

_So much like her mother…_

"You can't possibly be old enough to have acquired that legally," Erik replied smoothly with a slight grin, and even though she had not inherited Christine's looks he had to admit that she was a very pretty thing when angry.

"I'm eighteen," she retorted in a huff, her hands still on her hips, and though she had Richard's eyes she glowered at him with Christine's determination.

"No you aren't." He bent to pick up the cigarette and tossed it into the dispenser by the door. "I would say you're about sixteen – maybe seventeen."

The girl looked chagrined and shoved her fists into her pockets, confirming that he had been correct in his guess of her age. "How did you know?"

Erik smiled enigmatically and extended his hand towards her. "Because, Miss…" He waited for her to offer her last name, although he suspected that he already knew it – Dutton, Richard's last name had always been Dutton before – but perhaps it had changed this time, for he had searched for all of the Richard Duttons he could find in the United Kingdom and America, supposing that Christine might gravitate towards him as she had in all of her past lives, but had never uncovered the one for whom he was searching.

The girl barely hesitated before taking his hand and shaking it. "Dutton," she supplied, confirming his suspicions, "but no one calls me 'Miss Dutton.' My name's Beth."

"Because, _Beth_, anyone who is eighteen years old should know better than to talk to a strange man in a strange city. Didn't your _mother_ teach you not to talk to strangers?" He tempered his words with a broader smile, not wishing to frighten her, at least not yet.

She laughed although she could not possibly appreciate his joke fully, only he could do that, and for a second she almost resembled Christine in a way. "Well, you wouldn't be a stranger if you introduced yourself, would you?"

"I suppose you could call me Mr. Foster, but that would make me feel horribly old," he answered lightly, choosing to use the name he had assumed when he had last seen Christine. He wouldn't reveal his true name to the child, not now. There would be time for that in the coming days.

"I doubt that you're _horribly_ old," Beth offered with a giggle, covering her mouth with her hand.

"Oh, I suspect that I am older than you think," he muttered dryly, earning a louder giggle from his companion. "You may call me Richard, if you would like." Erik picked the name deliberately, waiting for Beth to give some sign that it was also her father's name, although he was unsure why he needed any more confirmation – there could be no doubt now that this was Christine's child.

"That's my dad's name," Beth said, wrinkling her nose slightly, and he idly wondered if she had a closer relationship with her mother or father. _I suppose that will become obvious once she cries for one or the other, begging to go home_, Erik thought as he kept his neutral smile plastered upon his synthetic face, thankful for the numerous scientific advances that allowed him to give up his dependency on human flesh for masks.

"Well, I wouldn't want you to mistake me for your father." Erik grinned wolfishly. "My middle name is Stephen if you would prefer to call me that, unless that's your mother's name – then perhaps you should stick with Richard."

"My mom's name is Josephine," Beth added with another laugh, and he tucked this tidbit of information away. _Clever girl, changing your name – once again I've underestimated you_. "If you told me your name was Josephine I think I'd say goodbye and go back into the restaurant." She frowned and turned around to glance at the door. "It's been nice talking to you, Stephen, but they'll be wondering where I am soon – I told them that I was going to the bathroom."

"Oh, but you can't leave yet," Erik replied hastily. "How long are you going to be in the city? Perhaps I could show you some of the sights – there's nothing quite like a tour from a real New Yorker."

"We're leaving in a couple of days and my schedule's full until then." Beth frowned and seemed genuinely unhappy that she wouldn't be able to take him up on his offer. "Tonight is our only free night."

"Tell me, have you seen Times Square yet?" Erik leaned closer to the girl and she tilted her chin so she could keep eye contact with him.

"From a taxi window earlier this afternoon." A couple entered the restaurant and Erik took the chance to steer Beth further away from the door.

"Oh, that doesn't count! You haven't experienced Times Square until you've walked through it at night. Come on, it's only a few blocks away, you'll be back before you know it." Beth smiled distractedly but peered through the large glass window at her dinner companions, who were engrossed in conversation. "They won't even know that you're gone," Erik promised as he placed his hand on her forearm, "and it'll be an experience you won't forget. What's the purpose of coming to New York City if you can't make a few memories that will last a lifetime?"

"Okay," Beth relented with a bright grin, "but just a short walk – I don't want to get in trouble."

Erik smiled to himself as he led her away from Charley O's, tucking her hand into the crook of his elbow so they weren't separated by the passersby. _Silly girl, you're already in trouble._


	4. Here is a ring, as token

_Author's Note: The Phantom of the Opera belongs to Gaston Leroux; this particular version belongs to whomever owns the rights to the 1989 movie with Robert Englund as Erik Destler. The chapter titles are from a poem called "The Bridal Ballad" by Edgar Allan Poe._

_Well, it's been a long time since I updated anything! Hopefully I will get my writing groove back soon._

_Many squishy thanks to my beta, Mongie (Monj)._

* * *

Christine gazed at Central Park from an Upper East Side apartment that belonged to Martin Barton, a friend of Richard's from law school and the owner of one of the most successful real estate brokerage firms in New York City. Richard had called him from the Billings airport as they had waited for the next plane east, and Christine had been grateful that her husband was able to think of such things, for her entire body had been numb and she could do little more than sit on a hard plastic chair and stare blankly out the window. If she allowed herself to think she could only see Erik hurting Beth as he had tortured Meg, and it had been a welcome relief when Richard had sunk into the chair beside her and wrapped his arms around her, squeezing her so tightly that she could barely catch her breath. 

"It will be okay, Jo," he had tried to reassure her, and she wished that she could summon the strength to comfort him too. "Martin's going to speak with the police commissioner and call in a few favors. Every police officer in the city will be looking for Beth by the time we reach New York. Maybe they'll find her before we even get there." Richard had such a note of hope in his voice that Christine couldn't bring herself to remind him that no one had been able to find _him_ after Meg's murder.

Christine had tried to tell him everything last night, even the parts that she had been keeping to herself for all of these years, but, coupled with their daughter's disappearance, it had been too much for him. Richard had always been the practical type but hearing his wife ramble about past lives had upset him far more than she had expected. She had wondered if he thought that she was going crazy with grief, and so she had forced herself to stop; she couldn't explain things to him anyway, at least not in a way that he would believe her.

Martin's driver had met them at the airport when their plane had touched down at LaGuardia, holding a placard with their surname carefully printed on it just like in the movies, and if the circumstances had been different Christine probably would have laughed. Instead she had stood mutely by as Richard and the driver had fetched their luggage, her eyes scanning the crowd though she knew that Beth was not there. She was looking for _him. _He had always had the uncanny ability to find her – what if he was there, watching?

She didn't see him, even though the back of her neck tingled the entire time they were at the turnstile, as if someone was spying on her, and the feeling had only subsided when they left the airport. The ride to the 14th Precinct had been a quiet one, and Richard had held onto Christine's hand the entire way. She wondered if he knew more than he had told her, if perhaps he was aware that Christine was in danger just by being in the city; even if he didn't believe the more far-fetched parts of the story, Richard did know that she had fled New York because she had been stalked by a psychopath who had presumably killed her best friend, and that Meg's murderer had never been apprehended. He also knew that, because of that fact, Christine didn't trust police officers, especially the ones in New York.

She was not reassured when they were introduced to the detectives assigned to their daughter's case. Inspectors Hawkins and Davies seemed capable enough, both of them taking Beth's disappearance seriously and making no effort to dismiss her as a runaway or an irresponsible teenager who wanted to explore the city on her own, but in spite of everything Christine felt uneasy. They were familiar to her somehow, as if she had met them before, but she knew that couldn't be the case – Davies was far too young to have been assigned to investigate Meg's murder, and Hawkins' southern drawl backed up his story of being a Georgia lawman for years before coming north half a decade ago.

Richard, however, had appeared convinced that the investigation was being carried out by competent detectives, and, after they had filled out the necessary paperwork and answered some basic questions, there had been little to do except go to Martin's apartment to wait. It was a beautiful three-bedroom flat overlooking Central Park and must have cost a fortune, but to Christine it felt more like a prison cell. She had promised Richard that she wouldn't leave the apartment alone, although she had fought the childish urge to cross her fingers behind her back, and the longer she stood at the window the more she wanted to break her word. She had only promised because she knew that he wouldn't sleep if she didn't, and it was obvious to her that the adrenaline that had been keeping him alert during the past day had finally deserted him and he was exhausted. He needed to rest, but she would not join him, not with her insides feeling like they were twisting in knots. All she wanted to do was to go outside and search for Beth, even though she knew that it would likely be a waste of time; it would keep her mind occupied, and that was all she truly wanted. Having time to think only made her dwell on Erik's motives – had he kidnapped her daughter to lure her back to the city, or had he intended to punish her for fleeing? She didn't want to consider the second option; she had witnessed the brutality of which he was capable and allowing herself to think about it at all made her mind freeze in horror.

Christine eyed the door and bit her lip, wondering what it would be like to see him again. She knew with absolutely certainty that, now he had succeeded in getting her back to New York once more, he would be coming for her. He would find her, just as he always had. She glanced over her shoulder, back at the bedroom where her husband now slept, and she recalled one of the foggy memories that she had recalled after being hit by a sandbag all of those years ago, the look on Richard's face as Erik had killed him in London. _If he finds Richard here he will kill him again_, Christine thought to herself, and it was that fact that made her gather up her purse and open the door to the hallway as quietly as possible. Richard would stop her if he found out, but she couldn't bear to lose him again or to make their daughter an orphan. She knew that her life was over. Erik would never let her go again – he would kill her first – but if she could somehow keep Richard alive, at least Beth wouldn't be alone.

The doorman of the building flagged a taxi for her, and as she climbed into the cab she almost directed the driver to take her to the music library where she and Meg had spent so much time together, and the building that had housed the cursed manuscript that had started all of this. Instead she told the driver that she wanted to go to Charley O's, the place where Beth had been last seen, and the man smiled at her in the rearview mirror before pulling back onto the street, apparently pleased that he would have such a large fare. She stared out the window and watched as they passed by familiar landmarks – FAO Schwartz, where she and Meg had looked at the Christmas displays; Tiffany's, where she used to walk by and dream of being able to afford such fine jewelry; St. Patrick's, where Meg, a devout Catholic, had often gone to services – and when they finally arrived at the restaurant Christine patted her face and discovered that her cheeks were wet with tears.

There was not much to see at the restaurant and so, after a few minutes of standing on the sidewalk staring at the large glass windows, Christine crossed the street and wandered towards the Majestic Theatre. The police had told her that Beth had seen a musical before going to eat, and Christine's lip curled in disgust as she read the marquee. _The Phantom of the Opera_, she noted to herself, _how ironic_.

Christine had heard of the musical before; in fact, she had seen part of the show once with Meg shortly after it had opened on Broadway. Tickets had been almost impossible to obtain for months, and when her friend had won a pair of them in a contest she had asked Christine to go with her, teasing her that the musical was written for her since her name was so similar to Christine Daaé. Christine had agreed, had even been excited about it since they couldn't afford such luxuries as theater tickets very often, but as she had watched the Phantom lure Christine through the mirror in her dressing room something had felt very wrong. She had quickly excused herself, insisting that Meg stay and finish watching the show, and gotten sick in the bathroom before going back to the apartment that they shared. She had laughed it off later and told Meg that she must have eaten something that had disagreed with her, but she had known even then that there was more to it than that – she just didn't know what. That had been before the disastrous audition where she had met _him_ again and she had learned why the musical had made her so uneasy.

Now Beth had disappeared less than an hour after seeing the show for the first time, and Christine knew with all of her soul that it was more than a coincidence. She wondered if _he_ came here often, if he got some perverse joy out of watching their story unfold on stage every night and watching the people leave the theater feeling sorry for him. _If they only knew the truth_, she thought bitterly as she stared at the large poster of the actors who played Raoul and Christine on stage. The girl's eyes were wide with terror in the picture and she clung to her beau's arm as if she were afraid to ever let go. Christine knew that feeling very well.

The back of her neck was tingling again, just as it had in the airport when she had wondered if he was watching them, and she swallowed the lump forming in her throat before slowly turning around. Shading her eyes against the late afternoon sun, she scanned the crowds that lined both sides of the street, looking for _him_. A few girls were pointing across the street at the Naked Cowboy, a large group of tourists were taking pictures of the various billboards, a man was trying to hail a taxi, several people were milling around the tables that displayed art prints for sale – nothing seemed to be out of the ordinary.

Taking a few tentative steps towards the curbside, the prickling sensation grew stronger and Christine knew instinctively that she was drawing nearer to him. She wondered if she would even recognize him – she had looked full in his face, as artificial as it had been, decades ago and had not connected him to the hazy memories that had resurfaced while she was unconscious – but she was _looking_ for him now. The man in the hat was too short, the businessman barking into his cell phone surely couldn't be him, the boy nodding as he listened to his iPod certainly wasn't…

She focused on the man standing a few feet away from her; he was carrying a briefcase and his short strawberry blonde hair was slicked back from his long forehead. He wasn't wearing glasses as Erik had decades ago, but Christine didn't think that anything had ever been wrong with his eyes – it was all part of the new disguise, and she hated that he was able to change his appearance so easily. The man apparently felt the heat of her gaze, for he turned and smiled politely at her as they waited. _It's not him_, she thought to herself with a mixture of disappointment and relief, _his eyes were always so cold_.

Standing on the tips of her toes, Christine peered across the street to see if he was standing on the other side, but the mid-afternoon sun was blinding. She wanted to scream at him, wherever he was – _I'm here, isn't that what you wanted? Why don't show yourself?_ – but she didn't even know if he would be able to hear her. Twisting her wedding rings nervously, Christine remembered how she had tried to pry off the ring he had slipped onto her finger when he had made her his bride. Begging him to remove it had been a waste of breath and she knew that it would do no good now either, although that didn't stop her from wanting to plead for Beth's safe return anyway.

The lights changed at last and the crowd surged forward, pushing Christine along with them. When she neared the middle of the crosswalk, a tall man in a trench coat pressed something against her palm as he ambled towards the other side of the street. The ring on his pinky caught the sun and Christine felt the blood in her veins turn to ice – it was a ring that she had not seen in a century, the very ring that he had forced onto her finger – and she twisted around, trying to change directions and follow him. "Wait!" she called as she struggled against the relentless crowd, "please wait!"

The man glanced over his shoulder at her, his blue eyes narrowing before he turned around again, but it was enough. Christine's knees were trembling so badly that if the crowd hadn't been relentlessly shoving her towards the opposite side of the street she would have collapsed in the middle of the crosswalk. She recognized those eyes…

When she at last reached the curb she clung to a lamppost for support as she scanned the crowds on the other side of the street for him, but he was gone. It was only then that she remembered the small square of cardstock that he had given her – it was a business card with the name and address of a hotel. She flipped it over, expecting some message from him to be scrawled there, but it was blank. Had her mind been playing tricks on her? She was so desperate to find Beth – had she imagined the whole thing? Christine shook her head; she had not imagined those dead eyes, and she had definitely not imagined the business card that she still held. Her hand shaking, she raised it to hail a cab.


End file.
